


Insufferable Gabriel Smith

by voidify



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a bastard and I love him all the more for it, Crack, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Footnotes, Gabriel redemption arc, Human Gabriel (Good Omens), Humour, Other, POV Multiple, Post-Canon, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Sitcom, So does Crowley, Tags May Change, he gets turned into a human by adam, ship tags explained in more detail in notes, ze/zir pronouns for Beelzebub (as Neil hath decreed)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2020-10-16 22:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20610275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidify/pseuds/voidify
Summary: Five years after Armaggeddon’t, Adam semi-accidentally turns Gabriel into a human. Hilarity, redemption, and strange bedfellows ensue.





	1. Gabriel Comes to Earth!

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a tumblr post, and a discussion in a Good Omens discord server. This cracky thing is going to be my most ambitious fic yet! Let’s see how it goes. Thanks to onegaymore for beta and cheerleading!
> 
> I have a plan for where this fic is going, but I make no promises about updating regularly. Total number of chapters will be somewhere in the range of 12 to 20.
> 
> The title will make a little bit more sense once chapter 2 is out. It pays homage to Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, and the chapter titles are also after the fashion of episode titles of that show— for the most part, this is just a weird thing I decided to do in order to have a snappy fic title and a solid chapter naming convention. Plus, I guess there’s a shared element of fish out of water comedy? (Note: I had not properly binged that show as of posting chapter 1. Since then, I did, and realised that Jon Hamm plays the villain— I regret nothing, though, and will persevere with this naming convention.)
> 
> Implicit spoilers for the end of season 1 of The Good Place in the first footnote of chapter 1. I’ll warn for any other non-Good-Omens spoilers as they come.
> 
> And now, the explanation for the ship tags, just so there's no ambiguity. A/C is an established relationship from the start of the fic, and gets lots of fluff and some subplots, and will be the most important canon-character pairing for more than a third of the fic, but is the secondary pairing in the grand scheme of the fic. Beelzebub won’t show up until like chapter 6 or 7, but when ze does, Beelzebub/Gabriel is going to be the real ship of the fic.

_Saturday, 12 August, 2023_

There was a knock at the bookshop door. “I’m afraid we’re closed,” Aziraphale called, idly stroking Crowley’s hair. Crowley was sprawled along the couch, head in Aziraphale’s lap, as they watched one of those internet television series that had apparently become all the rage around the time of Armageddon’t. [1]

“It’s Adam,” came a voice from the door. 

Crowley paused the show with a thought. Aziraphale stood up, and began toward the door to unlock it. It swung open before he could reach it. Aziraphale sighed. “Adam, what have I told you about unnecessarily using your powers? You haven’t been,” Aziraphale pointed downwards, “_his_ son for years; you have a limited reserve of power now.”

“I know, I _know_, Uncle Zira. And I follow that advice back at home, but it just sort of… activates when I want something to happen, unless I stop it on purpose. And here, I don’t have to be normal, so, might as well.” Adam shrugged. “I’ve probably got a huge reserve built up from resisting it most of the time, too; no problem with opening a few doors, how I see it.”

“Alright. Well, in any case, it’s very nice to see you. You would be… sixteen, now?” 

Adam nodded. “Last week.”

Then, something occurred to Aziraphale. “…Why are you in London? Don’t you still live in Tadfield?”

“Yeah. But we missed my birthday, _and_ the fifth anniversary of… the weekend after my birthday, so I mentioned to my parents that we hadn’t visited Auntie Jen in a while, and she lives in London, so.” 

“...Adam, did Auntie Jen live in London before today?”

“Yes! I told you, I don’t use my powers much at home. I mean… maybe I used them to convince my parents that it was a good idea to take me to visit this weekend… and to not notice that I wasn’t at Jen’s house today…—but I didn’t change where she lives, anything like _that_.”

Aziraphale was fairly satisfied with this. “Well, come in and have some tea. So sorry we missed this year’s birthday visit, by the way.”

Adam shook his head. “It’s no problem. Just means I get to visit _you _instead.”

Adam was halfway to the back room, when Crowley reached him. They hugged. “Adam! It’s great to see you. So… any news about Liam?”

Adam blushed and smiled that goofy smile. “Um. Going well. We saw a movie last week.” [2]

“That’s good to hear. Now, remember,” Crowley turned on the menace, “if he _ever_ hurts you, call us—”

“_Crowley_.”

“Angel, he’s a _kid_; I’ll only give him a good scare.”

“Still, it’s _hypothetical_, dear.”

“And it’s good to be _prepared_ for hypotheticals.”

Adam had been watching their playful bickering. It was, he had to admit, adorable, but there’s no age more awkward to be a third wheel than sixteen, so he interrupted. “Did you say something about tea?”

“Ah. Yes. Sit, please, both of you; I’ll go put on the kettle and get the biscuits.” Aziraphale turned; as he was leaving, he stage-whispered in Crowley’s ear, “We’ll finish this later, hm?” Then, he coyly scuttered away to the kitchen. Adam rolled his eyes. 

Crowley and Adam sat down on opposite sides of the small table. “So, how’re things back in Tadfield?”

“Pretty good. Friend group’s still going strong.[3] Pepper got a girlfriend, actually— she and Millie finally stopped dancing around each other the other week. Meant to call you. Well, now you know.”

“Nice,” Crowley said, smiling. The saga of Pepper and Millie was one for the ages.

“Hm, what else… oh, there’s a new electronics store! Newt’s banned from it already, no surprise to anyone. Oh, and speaking of Newt, he and Anathema got a cat! A black one, ‘cos they’re less likely to get adopted. Some people think it’s Anathema’s familiar or something, but it’s not. She finds the rumours hilarious, actually; the cat’s not nearly bright enough to be of any use for witchcraft. And I _know_ that’s true; it keeps trying to make friends with Dog, even though he uses his glare at it all the time. Not nearly as effective, that glare, since he stopped being a hellhound.”

Aziraphale returned, carrying a tin of biscuits. Adam continued to recount news. “Another thing… I got a job, over the holidays. As a cashier, at the corner store. Probably won’t stay on once the school year starts, but it’s a good way to make a bit of money.” 

Adam noticed Aziraphale standing there. “Speaking of work,” he said, reaching up to take a biscuit, “have either of you gotten any news from… _yours_, since we last talked?”

“Nope,” Crowley answered. “Hell’s terrified of me, I’m pretty sure. I mean, makes sense, with me being _indestructible_.” With that, he chuckled, and smiled at Aziraphale. This in-joke was one they’d never explained to Adam; apparently, it was a matter of safety that nobody other than themselves knew… _something_, but that didn’t stop them from hinting at that _something_ regularly. 

Aziraphale smiled back at Crowley, and sat down beside him, placing the tin on the table. “And Heaven of me, for… much the same reason. Besides, Gabriel doesn’t particularly like Earth anyway; it’s far too chaotic for him. He’s even stopped coming down to exercise.”

“I don’t like Gabriel,” Adam said. “He was really mean to me at the airfield. I mean, Beelzebub was too, but, I mean, I can’t really fault zir[4] for that; ze’s _supposed_ to be mean. But Gabriel’s an angel; he’s supposed to be _nice_. And he doesn’t understand humans at all. I wish he had a chance to learn.”

Somewhere in the bookstore, a lightbulb blew. 

“…Adam. Did you do something?”

Adam stopped to think. “…I don’t know. I might’ve. If I did, I might be able to undo it, if I try quickly.” He looked at Aziraphale. “_…Should _I try to undo it?”

Crowley and Aziraphale shared a glance. 

“No,” Aziraphale said, a very particular smile on his face. He fixed the light with a quick miracle. “Now, I do believe the tea is ready.”

***

One moment, Gabriel was in his office in Heaven. The next, he was half a metre in midair above a filthy street. He fell on his back. Ow. What? He hadn’t planned to manifest!

As Gabriel lay there, mildly in shock as he tried to figure out _what had happened_… a human approached. “You okay, mate?”

“Where am I? What’s going on?”

Under his breath, the human muttered something that sounded a little like ‘bloody American tourists’. “…You’re in London. And I’d recommend taking a nap somewhere else than a random alley if I were you. You could catch fifty different diseases from that footpath.” The man helped Gabriel up. 

“What? I wasn’t— sleeping!”

“_Sure_ you weren’t, mate. Go somewhere else; be someone else’s problem. Alright?”

Gabriel was practically pushed out of the alley, and then the human was gone. Well. That was rude. He started walking in a random direction. A car drove through a puddle, and splattered his perfect cashmere suit with mud. _Ugh_. He tried to miracle it away. 

He… couldn’t. 

_What? _Had he somehow lost his powers? Had he… become _human?_

No. It couldn’t be. This was a mistake. Or a test. Or something. Gabriel dropped to his knees on the footpath, and loudly began to pray. This didn’t count as _questioning the Plan_, Gabriel told himself; this whole thing was confusing and weird and he would _very much_ like an explanation, so there was no problem checking if one was available! “God? Hello? Almighty? It’s me, Gabriel!” Gabriel shouted this in the direction of the sky, hands clasped together. “What’s this for?— What kind of test?— _What?! _Would— would an explanation be available? I mean, I get it if You’re not supposed to explain, that’s been true for most of Your other acts so far, but if there’s anything…”

Gabriel trailed off. The clouds were not parting; a heavenly voice was not speaking to him; there wasn’t even the Metatron. [5] Well. He supposed the Almighty didn’t want to explain it to him. That was fine. Explaining wasn’t really Her style. Gabriel did tend to do better with clear mission statements for his parts in the Plan, though. ‘Explain Daniel’s visions’, ‘tell Zachariah about the fertility treatment God just gave his wife’, ‘get Maryam’s permission for God to impregnate her’[6]… with those orders, Gabriel knew what he was supposed to _do._ ‘You’ve been made human’, on the other hand, was a _statement_, not an _order_. And She hadn’t even really _said_ it, She’d just _done_ it. Well, whatever. Gabriel would figure out the purpose himself. 

_And— _he would _not_ go to Aziraphale. Aziraphale was a _traitor_ and a _failure _and… _scary_. He would _not _contact Aziraphale. He would pass this test on his own. 

And for six days and seven nights, Gabriel stuck to that self-imposed restriction. He wandered London aimlessly, getting more and more unkempt as time went on. He would have kept at it forever, until he figured out his mission— but, unfortunately, his human body had physical needs. Needs like food, water, and sleep, which all completely slipped his mind— he’d never even engaged in any of them recreationally while manifesting, so how could he know that he _needed_ them as a human?

So, on the seventh day, as he was walking along a street… his legs began to give out beneath him… he collapsed… his eyes slid shut, and stayed that way… 

Gabriel stayed there for some unknown period of time— until a human found him. Luckily, it was not a malicious human— in fact, it was the same one who’d found him immediately after he came to Earth. Gabriel woke to water splashing on his face, and words of ‘it’s okay, I know him, just hold on’, in that human’s voice, talking to someone else. Some of the water landed in Gabriel’s mouth, and he realised that his body _needed _it right now. He reached for the water bottle. “Can I…?”

The human sighed. “Sure.” He let Gabriel drain the bottle dry, then spoke. “Alright. Do you know _anyone_ in London? Trust me, mate, I don’t like needing to rescue you any more than you like needing to be rescued. Is there _anyone _in this city that you know? Go to them instead of me, I’m _begging_ you_._”

“Um. There…” Well, Gabriel supposed it was his only option. He had no _idea_ what to do with this body, and Aziraphale had been keeping up appearances for six millennia. “There is… a guy who used to work with me. He owns a bookshop, I think?”

“Great. Go to him. I’m not bailing you out again…” the stranger seemed to realise he didn’t know Gabriel’s name, “…weird American.”

“Gabriel.”

“Oh, _now_ you tell me your name. Well, I guess I should too. I’m Tim. Tim Peters. Would say _nice to meet you_, but… we both know it’s not. Now. Go to this bookshop.”

Gabriel nodded. It was only once Tim had left that he realised he had _no idea _how to find Aziraphale’s place. 

So, Gabriel found an area with a lot of people, and asked every stranger he saw— _excuse me, I’m looking for a bookshop somewhere in London— no, I don’t know the name, or the district— what’s a ‘Google Maps’?— the only thing I know for sure is the owner— short, chubby, white hair, tartan bow-tie— you’d know him if you saw him, ma’am—_

At last, somebody stopped to help. It wasn’t Tim, surprisingly enough; it was a woman, tall, with dark hair. “I think I know what shop you mean. It’s A.Z. Fell’s, in Soho. Should probably warn you, it never opens, and when it does, nobody ever gets to buy anything— bit weird that you’d come to England for it— but it’s probably the one you mean. I’ve heard rumours the owner’s got a pet snake, but I’ve never seen it.” 

‘A.Z. Fell’? What a lazy pseudonym. [7] Well, it was definitely him, at least. “Thank you! …Next question: how do I get there?”

The human gave directions. They were good directions. Soon enough, Gabriel was at the doorstep of Aziraphale’s store. It had started raining on the way there. 

Gabriel heard Aziraphale’s voice from inside, hastily calling out, “We’re closed!” 

“It’s Gabriel,” he said. “I need your help.”

***FOOTNOTES***

1This one, _The Good Place_, was about four humans’ experience in the afterlife— it was, of course, _inaccurate_, but it was funny, and had heart, and got the bureaucracy aspect of both Sides spot-on. Neither of them had seen the end-of-season-one twist coming. Well, to be more precise— Crowley had watched the show _many _times before introducing Aziraphale to it, but he had apparently been blindsided the first time around (in part, Aziraphale suspected, due to the aesthetic resemblance to Aziraphale that the character named Michael possessed); and despite being the inventor of spoilers, he hadn’t said a single thing about the twist to Aziraphale (there was nary a more telling proof of true love than that). The question of whether Aziraphale had in fact predicted the twist and merely kept the deduction to himself was an occasional topic of dispute between the two, but the correct (and silently mutually-acknowledged) answer was that he had not.[return to text]

2It should be noted that, as he had assured both immortal beings repeatedly, the inception of Adam’s relationship with Liam was completely magic-free— Adam would never be so ‘weird and gross’, as he had phrased it, as to warp reality so that somebody would have feelings for him.[return to text]

3They had long since outgrown calling themselves the Them, and didn’t go to their forest lair very much now; still, they were the very same group who had defeated the Horsemen, and they continued to be one of the closest friend groups at Tadfield Secondary.[return to text]

4Crowley wasn’t sure if he had actually called his former boss by pronoun around Adam, but Adam did sometimes know things without being told.[return to text]

5Meanwhile, about half of the passersby had stopped to gawk at the strange man with an American accent praying loudly in the middle of a London footpath. Gabriel was not particularly aware of this.[return to text]

6To name three of his acts that made the cut for human awareness.[return to text]

7It didn’t occur to Gabriel that he may not be one to talk, given that he was just using his _name_.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the Them are queer, I don't make the rules. TV-verse Crowley watching The Good Place is directly from the mouth of Neil. Finally, readers, don't forget about Tim, because this isn't the last time you're going to see him!
> 
> Next up: _Gabriel Gets a Life!_


	2. Gabriel Gets a Life!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can partially blame the hiatus on school, but it’s mostly because I’ve been overthinking everything. I’m really trying not to overthink this fic but it’s just in my nature to overthink, so I definitely overthought this chapter way too much. Hopefully the chapter is good, at least. The fic title now makes sense!

It should be noted that Aziraphale had _plans _for this rainy evening. In less vague terms, he had Crowley pinned against a bookshelf, was kissing him like his life depended on it, and had no intent to stop there. 

When there was a knock at the door, there was no reason to believe it anything more than a hapless attempted customer. Hastily, Aziraphale called out, “We’re closed!”, before returning to the task at hand.

What he heard next was thoroughly unexpected, and _thoroughly_ killed the moment.

“It’s Gabriel. I need your help.”

There was a clattering sound as Crowley fell to the floor. 

***

Gabriel waited. He was beginning to regret this decision. If this was a test of whether he could keep up his code of behaviour in a human body on Earth, he had failed _miserably_ by contacting that _traitor_. But, on the other hand, Aziraphale was the angel with the most experience inhabiting a corporation, and Gabriel wasn’t sure what would happen if he went on trying to operate his without instruction. He’d never even manifested for longer than a day or so, and now he had _human needs_ as well, apparently, so there was nothing to do but find out how to do this right.

Gabriel heard muttering too distant to determine words, and then, two voices approaching the door.

“—going to tear him LIMB FROM LIMB—”

“Dear— wait— hold on—”

Then, the door opened, and Gabriel was faced with the demon Crowley, eyes and mouth in full snake mode; angrier than Gabriel had ever seen him before. “Ssso you’ve come here, you _monsssssster—_”

***

Aziraphale pushed past Crowley. “Crowley, dear, I think you should go back inside.” It wasn’t that Aziraphale cared for Gabriel in the _slightest_, not by _any_ stretch of the imagination, but he needed to know what was actually _happening _first before Crowley jumped in to destroy the Archangel. 

“But— he—”

Aziraphale attempted a glare. It seemed to be effective. Crowley slithered around the open door and waited just behind it. [1]

“So,” Aziraphale said with strained civility, maintaining the glare. “Gabriel. Why are you here?” Now that Aziraphale had a chance to look at Gabriel, he looked _terrible_. His suit was muddy; his hair was all over the place; he had even grown a shaggy beard… what had _happened _to him? The Gabriel who Aziraphale knew would never have allowed himself to get _anywhere_ near this disheveled.

“Look, I don’t like me being here any more than you do. But, I’ve somehow become a human— some sort of test [2], I can only assume— and… it seems that you’re my only option.”

A moment of stunned silence. “…Excuse me. I must discuss this with Crowley.” Aziraphale closed the door in Gabriel’s face. He indicated for Crowley to follow him to an area further from the door. 

Once they were, hopefully, out of earshot from Gabriel, Aziraphale gave his opinion. “I think we should help him.”

“Angel, are— what are you _thinking?! _Did you forget that he _tried to inccccinerate you out of exisssstenccce?_” 

“No, I _didn’t_ forget, dear— but did you hear what he said? He’s been turned into a human. It’s Adam’s doing from last week, that much is obvious. We can’t very well turn down the opportunity.” Crowley didn’t seem convinced. “Crowley, my dear. If he’s to learn anything— the whole point, if you remember— _and_, if we want to be truly different from them, _both_ of them— we can start by helping in his hour of need.” Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow. “And besides… I didn’t say that we can’t torment him just a _little…_”

“Ah, _there’s _my angel.”

That was all Aziraphale needed. He opened the door again. “We’ve decided to help you. Not _trust_ you, mind… but _help_ you.” He let Gabriel in, and ushered him into the back room. “Now. Sit down. When was the last time you ate?” 

Gabriel stared blankly at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale tried an easier question. “How long have you been human?”

“…Seven days.” 

“And have you eaten _any_ food in all that time?” 

“Ha! No. Why would I do _that?_ The closest thing was when a random human gave me some water this morning after I accidentally fell asleep in the street.”

“You’re a human now, Gabriel.” Aziraphale’s manner was increasingly akin to that of an exasperated teacher attempting to communicate with an especially obtuse five-year-old. “Humans need to eat, or they starve to death.”

Crowley chimed in. “You’re lucky that this ‘random human’ gave you water after you passed out, too; you could’ve died from dehydration.”

“There are so many stupid ways to die in this dumb squishy human body!” Gabriel proclaimed. Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley were able to contest this. “Alright, what’s the least disgusting food you have?” Gabriel crossed his arms and rolled his eyes dramatically, but seemed to have accepted that starvation was a bad idea. 

“...Let’s just start with bread. Crowley, dear, do you think we have any—?”

Gabriel interrupted. “Can’t you just miracle it up? I know for a _fact _that you can still perform miracles; last time I checked, your reports were still generated every month. Can I say, by the way,” Gabriel crinkled his nose, “do you _really_ have to use miracles _every time _you and that _demon_—”

Aziraphale cut off Gabriel’s ill-advised tirade with strained civility. “Technically, Gabriel, the answer to that question is _no_, but if it annoyed you, I would consider that a successful outcome. _And_,” he added, before Gabriel could say anything to that, “I would remind you that Crowley is in the room, and your survival is currently in our hands, so I would not be _quite_ so rude about our relationship if I were you. Now, as for the matter of _miracling food_…” Aziraphale’s voice was curled with contempt. It _was _possible for an angel to miracle food— but Aziraphale’s opinion of such food was reminiscent of some humans’ opinions on such things as boxed wine and microwave meals. “Well, I suppose you are _starving_,” he said, still repulsed by the prospect. “Very well, then.” 

With a flick of Aziraphale’s wrist, there was a sliced half-loaf of fresh white bread on the table before Gabriel. 

Gabriel stared at it. 

“Gabriel, do you… genuinely lack even a passing familiarity—” Aziraphale buried his amusement upon gleaning from his former employer’s blank expression that the answer was indeed yes, and became the exhausted schoolmarm once again to provide a basic tutorial. “You take a slice of the bread, and put it in your mouth.”

Gabriel did that, and only that.

“…And you chew it.”

Gabriel did, and continued for approximately fifty seconds.

“...And swallow it.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said, after following the final instruction. “Oh, wow.” His stomach made a noise; the hunger had finally registered. “Hold on a second—” and then he was tearing into the bread like a wild animal. Aziraphale took an involuntary step back, unsettled. 

When Gabriel was about halfway through with no sign of stopping, Aziraphale snapped his fingers and some more food appeared. It was a similar shape and texture to the loaf, but not formed of any actual food a human could theoretically prepare— instead, a perfectly balanced combination of all the nutrients Gabriel would need right now, for pure efficiency. This was one advantage of loosening one’s scruples on edible miracles, Aziraphale conceded. 

And, before it was too late, one last miracle waived Gabriel’s corporation’s resistance that a starved human body would usually have to suddenly eating great quantities of food. Gabriel wasn’t even properly aware of his body needing food and water to survive until minutes ago— he could _absolutely_ not be trusted to comprehend such a counterintuitive thing so soon. 

While Gabriel was occupied, Crowley pulled Aziraphale into the other room. “Hang on— wouldn’t Heaven keep records of things like the whereabouts of Archangels? We can’t very well teach your boss the value of humanity if there’s celestial police on our tail.”

“Ah. Perhaps we should call Adam to resolve that matter.”

Crowley pulled out his phone and did just that, putting it on speaker for Aziraphale’s sake. “Hey, Adam. We were wondering… will Heaven notice Gabriel’s absence?”

“…What?” 

“Oh. Right. Forgot to catch you up. Well, turns out last week you _did_ do something with your wish. Gabriel’s a human now, and he’s pathetic, and he’s under our roof eating our food— and anyway, I’d think if he’s to _learn anything_ from this experience, we shouldn’t have the rest of Heaven looking for him; that’d just complicate it all. So, _will they notice?_” It was as much a request as an inquiry. 

Adam paused to think. “…No. They won’t. Like you said, it’d just complicate the lesson. I mean, they won’t forget he was ever an angel or anything like that, but they won’t consider anything strange about how things currently are.” When Adam _stated_ something like this, one could be certain that it was true— or that it was_ now_ true, at least. 

Aziraphale took the phone. “Well, thank you, Adam. We should be getting back to him now. We’ll call if anything changes.”

“Okay. Me and Liam have a double date with Pepper and Millie anyway, so I’ve got to go. Talk to you later!” And with that, Adam hung up. 

Aziraphale and Crowley returned to the main back room. Gabriel had eaten his fill. 

“Now. We agree with you that a test is the only explanation for this. And I want to make sure you understand that without our help, you will have _no_ chance of succeeding in living as a human and learning about how humans work.” Aziraphale had decided to go along with that Divine-test narrative— Gabriel would obviously not acquiesce to self-improvement without having his belief confirmed that it was part of the Plan. “But— for now, you must be exhausted. The master bedroom of the flat above the bookshop is mine and Crowley’s. [3] Instead, you can sleep in…” Aziraphale paused for thought. There were creaking noises from above. “...the spare room. We have a spare room.”

“While you’re at it, can you clean my clothes?” Gabriel gestured to his mud-saturated cashmere suit. 

Well, he _could_, but it would be cathartic to inconvenience Gabriel. “I can only do so many miracles before it gets suspicious.”

“Come on, this is a small one— and I literally have no other clothes. Besides, nobody reads your miracle reports anymore. I sent a strongly worded memo to Accounting a few years ago, when the reports started getting _disgusting_—” Gabriel shot a childishly passive-aggressive glance at Aziraphale— “and now, the accountants shred them right out of the printer. So you have nothing to lose.”

“Well, I suppose there’s no reason not to do it, then,” Aziraphale said. [4] “Remove it first, though; it’ll be easier this way. You don’t want to sleep in a suit, in any case.”

Gabriel obliged, disrobing to his lavender silk boxers (of course he had those) and draping the suit over a chair. 

“I have an idea,” Crowley suddenly said. Before Aziraphale or Gabriel could react, he snapped his fingers, and Gabriel was now clad in a pair of pyjamas in cheap white flannelette, screen-printed with a pattern of cartoon “angels”. (That is to say, blonde women in vaguely-robe-shaped white dresses with wings and halos.) Crowley grinned at the perplexed Aziraphale, as Gabriel looked at his clothes with a mix of bemusement and horror. [5]

***

The next morning, Gabriel ate a balanced breakfast. It was miracled by Aziraphale, partially due to practicality, but partially, by this point, out of spite. 

When he finished, Aziraphale and Crowley sat at the other side of the table. “Now that you’re rested and full, we need to discuss some other essentials of living as a human,” Aziraphale said. “First and foremost— you must legally exist.” 

“Hm?” 

“Ever since humans started getting pedantic about proof of identity, census records, that sort of thing, I’ve become something of an expert in the paperwork aspect of pretending to be human.” [6]

“Same goes with me,” Crowley contributed. [7]

“Of course, you’re a _former _immortal, rather than a _current _one like us, so you won’t have to worry about regularly faking your death, or inventing younger relatives, or aborting allegations of fraud while attempting to inherit your own property, or any of _that_. [8] You will, nevertheless, need a full name, papers, and a plausible human backstory, so that we might forge you all the necessary documents.”

For the rest of the day, the three beings did nothing but discuss the matter of Gabriel’s human identity. By evening, a full cover story was resolved— specific enough to answer initial questions, but vague enough to improvise upon.

The narrative was thus. Gabriel Anthony [9] Smith [10] was born on the 10th of March, 1978 [11], in the midwestern United States. However, he was a dual citizen by default, because he had a British father. [12] His early life was utterly unremarkable. Upon graduating college with a business degree at the turn of the second millennium AD, he managed the local Blockbuster Video franchise for thirteen years, until it was shut down. [13] His parents both died in 2014, and for the next nine years, he worked in various mundane white-collar roles in and near his hometown. Two weeks ago, he was laid off from his last job, and a week after that, he moved to London, with no money or plan. 

As the sun set on the 19th of August, 2023, in the back room of A.Z. Fell’s Books, an angel and a demon closed their eyes and focused. All the proof of identity which Gabriel A. Smith would reasonably possess appeared in a pile on the table. Other papers appeared retroactively in various archives, and files appeared on computers. 

“You now legally exist as a human,” Aziraphale said. “In normal circumstances, what we’ve done will be enough. Avoid contradicting our story, or entering circumstances where humans may suspect you are not who you claim to be.”

“Got it. I mean, I’ve been following the rules since the start [14] so I doubt I’ll have any problems with that. Now, what’s the next step in Operation Become Human?” Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other. Neither of them had named it that. 

“Well, I suppose you should have a job.” Aziraphale produced a piece of paper. “Sign here— with the signature we discussed— and you’ll be the newest front-desk employee of A.Z. Fell’s Rare and Antiquarian Books. Now, on paper, your job is to sell books, but I’m telling you now, you are to avoid selling anyone any books at all costs.”

***FOOTNOTES***

1Close enough, his thought process seemed to be, to defend Aziraphale if such a thing proved necessary, but far enough to technically satisfy the request.[return to text]

2(Gabriel’s eyes flickered indicatively upwards.)[return to text]

3While angels and demons technically do not need to sleep, the room had other purposes, and the prospect of making it Gabriel’s room, even part of the time, did not appeal to anyone present.[return to text]

4Despite his superficial exasperation, there was a glee deep inside him that his gambit of going overboard on the bedroom miracles had achieved its aim.[return to text]

5The garment did, it should be noted, exist— Crowley had seen it in a bargain store some years prior, and (_very_ briefly) considered getting it for Aziraphale as a joke.[return to text]

6Over the 223 years of its existence, A.Z. Fell’s Antiquarian and Unusual Books had been regularly bequeathed to some younger relative of the owner— son, nephew, cousin, what have you— who conveniently happened to share both the exact appearance of his predecessor and the initials on the sign.[return to text]

7The ownership history of a certain 1926 black Bentley had been rather more linear than the bookshop— it was purchased new by Anthony John Crowley, then became the property of his son Anthony Janthony Crowley, then _his _son Anthony Jeremiah Crowley, then Anthony Jennifer Crowley, and finally, Anthony Jake Crowley. It has remained conspicuously ignored by humanity that no member of this line was ever seen in public while younger than thirty, older than sixty, or in the presence of a direct ancestor.[return to text]

8It should be noted that, despite all the careful fabrication, the list of people truly under the impression that A.Z. Fell and Anthony J. Crowley were not continuous individuals consisted solely of apathetic public servants and Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell.[return to text]

9Pronounced with a “th” sound, not a “t” sound, in accordance with the identity’s nationality. However, despite this, it was indeed chosen by Crowley as a practical joke.[return to text]

10Gabriel himself had no opinion on the question of surname, so the most common surname of the English-speaking world was decided upon.[return to text]

11The date and month, some readers may notice, strangely managed to coincide with a certain human doppelgänger of Gabriel’s corporation.[return to text]

12They had to address Gabriel’s accent somehow, but immigration paperwork was _far_ too annoying to forge.[return to text]

13There needed to be _some _cover-story explanation for Gabriel’s six thousand years of middle-management experience.[return to text]

14The ‘unlike you’ directed at both of the other beings (but mostly Crowley) was unspoken, but thoroughly transparent, and utterly eyeroll-worthy in its pettiness.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The PJs do not actually exist, to the best of my knowledge, but I’m imagining the print as something like [this](https://www.shutterstock.com/image-vector/christmas-seamless-vector-pattern-great-wrapping-333168800), minus the snowflakes. 
> 
> Next up: _Gabriel Goes to the Barber!_


	3. Gabriel Goes to the Barber!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short little chapter, but the fic’s still alive, everyone! Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate it, and happy new year to all! 
> 
> Once I learned about how quickly Jon Hamm grows facial hair, I wanted to address it with human!Gabriel, and I couldn’t resist a tie-in with Wilson & Sons— it is my most popular fic (at time of writing), after all. (If you haven’t read that fic, please [do so now](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19869442); this chapter won’t make sense otherwise. The fic’s under 2k, so it won’t take you too long.)
> 
> Now, this crossover doesn’t necessarily mean that Wilson & Sons is in the timeline where this fic is going to happen… but it does mean that this fic takes place in one of the _many_ timelines in the multiverse of my fics where Wilson & Sons is true. It’s kind of the “voidify expanded universe” if that makes sense?

_Sunday, 27 August, 2023— eight days after we left off. _

_Steve Wilson._

Mr. Fell had barely settled into his chair at the barbershop when he began his customary recap. “Mr. Wilson, I must say, I have some rather unprecedented news.”

“Hm?” Steve Wilson had no reason to be alarmed; usually when Mr. Fell said things like that, he was using hyperbole to introduce a new event involving Crowley. Steve reached for the scissors. 

“Well, Gabriel is visiting, for the time being.”

Steve dropped the scissors. “Gabr— _work_ Gabriel?” Gabriel, to the best of any Wilson’s knowledge, was Mr. Fell’s boss in the ‘vampire mafia light team’. [1] “What does _he_ want? You haven’t said anything about him in, what, five years, and now he’s _back_?” (One could very much forgive Steve such a shocked and protective reaction— his customer’s prior descriptions of Gabriel had not been flattering, to say the least.)

“No need to worry, dear; he's no threat now. He has become— well, I suppose I can trust you with the implication that this statement carries, given the extent of my patronage here [2]—” Mr. Fell lowered his voice, glancing around— “he has become… human.”

“…Oh.” Fell’s immortality, and that of all repeatedly mentioned coworkers, had been an open secret to the Wilson family since at least the nineteenth century, so Steve couldn’t muster an ounce of surprise on that front— but it was an intriguing and strange development that one of them could _become_ human. 

Fell continued. “It was due to a… miscalculation on the part of a friend. It may be permanent, or temporary; we’re not entirely sure, at this point. In any case, Crowley and I intend to teach him to respect humanity.”

“And what does that have to do with me?” Other, Steve thought, than the _incredible _plot twist it would add to the Tome. 

“Well, he has been… in this condition for two weeks. He’s grown facial hair, and looks, if I may say so, rather haggard. And, well, I know this establishment to have reliable barbers…”

“You’re booking an appointment for Gabriel.”

“Yes. How’s tomorrow, same time?”

“Gabriel, who you once described as, ‘the most utterly insufferable—’” 

“Well, you don’t have to rub it in,” Fell hissed, interrupting Steve. “Although, that has not become _false_, I must say.”

***

_The next day…_

Crowley’s car was, as usual, heard before it was seen. As soon as the approaching sound of Another One Bites the Dust became audible, all idle members of the Wilson family went to take a look as the Bentley parked in its usual spot in front of the shop. Mr. Fell got out of the front passenger seat. Then, the back-seat door facing the shop opened, and out stepped… presumably, Gabriel. Fell briskly walked this man to the door. As the pair drew closer, the barbers individually realised how conspicuously they were assembled towards the front, and dispersed once again. 

The door opened, and there stood Gabriel and Fell. Christine, the daughter of Emily, covertly took a photo, pretending to only be looking at something on her phone.

Gabriel was significantly taller than Fell, with a somewhat imposing build. He was wearing a lavender Hawaiian polo shirt, cargo shorts, and Vans. His hair was neatly combed, but his facial hair was indeed haggard— Mr. Fell had been underselling it, in fact. If there had been dark circles under Gabriel’s eyes, and stains on his shirt, he would have been, to all appearances, a high-level executive on the second week of a multi-substance bender.

“He usually prefers suits,” Aziraphale explained, sensing the surprised reaction to Gabriel’s choice of apparel, “but we took him shopping Thursday to get something a little more casual, and, well, this is the outfit he picked out on his own.” The words were innocuous, but Fell’s expression and tone bestowed the utterance with the passive-aggression it deserved. [3]

Gabriel was directed to a chair, behind which Chris Wilson stood. Fell sat in the waiting area, reading Pride & Prejudice. [4] An awkward silence enveloped the room for the duration of Gabriel receiving a clean shave; Fell’s presence (and, more pertinently, his occasional glares in the direction) contributed significantly towards this.

Once it was done, Fell overpaid (just as he did with his own appointments, but here the extra cash felt like an apology rather than a tip), and he and Gabriel both left.

***

_The next day…_

Quite unexpectedly, in the late morning, the Bentley rolled up to the barbershop once more, playing the same song as yesterday. [5] Fell and Gabriel got out just like yesterday. But when Fell attempted to walk Gabriel up to the shop like yesterday, Gabriel shrugged him off and marched up to the door himself; during this, Crowley got out of the car and came up with his partner. 

Gabriel burst through the door, strode across the shop, and sat down in one of the unoccupied chairs. “It’s back,” he said, indicating the substantial layer of stubble which had grown in the 24 hours since his last visit.

During the collective moment of dumbfoundedness that this inspired, Crowley and Fell reached and surpassed the shop’s doors as well. Fell began, exasperatedly, “Gabriel—”

“You said that you’d bring me here so they could fix it again!”

“No, I said we’d bring you here so they could give _advice _on the situation.”

Steve Wilson stepped up to do just that. “Honestly, if it grows fast enough that he needs to shave every day to maintain a clean shave, he should probably do it himself.” This was Steve’s honest opinion— daily appointments paid for by Fell’s usual amount would leave the shop much richer, but would either bankrupt Fell or inflate the pound. [6] “Although,” Steve added, “_can_ he?”

Crowley and Fell looked at each other, then engaged in a hushed conversation.

“The answer to that is no, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay. Great. I was gonna say, I’m not teaching _Gabriel_ to shave.”

“You know how to shave?”

“I mean, it’s been a while, but I could probably—” Crowley came into awareness that his remark was currently pointless, and turned to give Steve his answer. “No, he can’t.”

“Well, in that case,” Steve said, and turned to address Gabriel, “growing the beard out is probably the best option for you. It could work for you if you keep it well-groomed, and it’s clearly a hassle for them to get you here. Although,” he suppressed a grin as he addressed Fell and Crowley once more, “if you can bring him occasionally, maybe a bit more often than _your _usual visits, just to get a trim and grooming tips, that’d probably be a good idea.” Steve would not have been the slightest ashamed to admit— to anyone _other_ than the two beings before him— that his ulterior motive in this suggestion was to obtain Gabriel’s side of various stories in the Tome. 

But he didn’t have to admit it, because Aziraphale read it right off of him, and would now make sure to chaperone every one of Gabriel’s appointments.

***FOOTNOTES***

1This was the current generation’s nickname for Fell’s mysterious, high-stakes, immortal-filled workplace (or, well, former workplace since August 2018), with Crowley’s one being ‘vampire mafia dark team’. It was not meant _literally _by most Wilsons— there was, in truth, no real family consensus on the manner of Fell’s and Crowley’s immortality, and the organised crime hypothesis was not without its holes— but it was useful to have a shorthand.[return to text]

2255 years and 63 days, to be exact; as many of the readers would know, he had been served by ten generations of Wilsons, and they had the Tome of all his gossip to prove it.[return to text]

3The real success of the shopping trip was that when Gabriel got hungry they went to a sushi place in the shopping centre and he, quote, ‘didn’t hate it’. True, it was only an avocado roll, but still a worthy milestone.[return to text]

4The copy of Pride & Prejudice was, it should be noted, rather confused— until a few minutes prior, it had been a June 2021 issue of the Daily Mirror.[return to text]

5This was no mere coincidence. When occupied by Gabriel, the Bentley would staunchly refuse to obey track order, and would play Another One Bites The Dust about three-quarters of the time, with the remaining quarter occupied only by Spread Your Wings, We Will Rock You, and Bohemian Rhapsody. Ninety-seven years of complaints from one’s owner’s angel can lead one to form quite a strong opinion, which might only be properly expressed through vague threats.[return to text]

6Gabriel, still in his seat, flailed such to indicate frustration with being talked about while in the same room; this was heeded by nobody.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: because of the way I plan and implement the footnotes, the process of publishing a chapter consists of a great deal of copying and pasting text around a google doc. My computer’s left CTRL key broke the day I published this chapter. I had to rewire my muscle memory entirely while I was setting this chapter up to publish.
> 
> Next up: _Gabriel Gets a Real Job!_


	4. Gabriel Gets a Real Job!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead and neither is this fic!!! But oh wow I really let this hiatus get out of hand. Since I’ve been gone I did my first semester of university, and with that and the whole pandemic thing I didn’t have the energy to finish this chapter until now. It’s possible there might be another long hiatus after this but the next chapter is a seasonal one so I’ll try to have it ready in time
> 
> These OCs will be recurring characters! Any resemblance of their usernames to any real usernames on any platforms is purely coincidental. Also if internet dialects are completely different by 2023, and if anyone is still reading this fic in that year lmao, I can and will handwave it with “this is a different timeline”— the same handwave I’m using to justify why I will not be addressing real-world issues in any meaningful way in this vignette-formatted Good Omens crack fic
> 
> Warning for canon-typical drinking by Aziraphale and Crowley in the first scene

The back room of A.Z. Fell’s Rare and Antiquarian Books. Empty bottles of wine and liquor. An angel and a demon having a spirited discussion. [1]

“And the way he deals with not knowing something!”, Crowley complained. “Too much of a _coward_ t’ just _ask_ it as a _question_, noooooo, when he’s not just making a complete fool of himself in bluffing, he makes it a _command_. ‘Tell me what so-n-so is’,” Crowley said mockingly, in an accent that, while American, had absolutely nothing in common with Gabriel’s.

“Really, it’s just the logical cocl— conl—_ endpoint_ of how he’s been _forever_,” Aziraphale said, gesticulating wildly. 

“_Unbearable’s_ what it is.”

“Mm. Not like we can just throw him out onto the street, though. ‘S a commitment we’ve made. Two months he’s lived here, but no doubt without our guidance he’ll forget which way is up and— and starve in a swimming pool, like one of your little electronic people.” [2]

“Yeah, might be true, but if he’s around me all day much longer I might strangle ‘im.” Aziraphale nodded, agreeing. “You know what we should do?” Crowley asked rhetorically, springing up from his seat. “One o’ those lists. I know you’ve got a blackboard here somewhere…”

Instead of waiting for said blackboard to be found, Aziraphale summoned it with a flick of the wrist. It landed about a foot off from where he meant to put it, only narrowly missing hitting Crowley in the face.

The pair drew up a pro-con list. Its final contents were as follows, in a mix of the two beings’ handwriting:

GABRIEL LIVING AND WORKING HERE

Pros

  * Keep an eye on him
  * He doesn’t die of being stupid
  * Good at making customers leave

Cons

  * Can’t leave unsupervised
  * EXHAUSTING to be around 24/7
  * Might murder him, and then it’d all be for nothing

Solutions?

<strike></strike>

  * <strike>Kick him out</strike>

<strike></strike>

  * <strike>Invent more errands</strike>

<strike></strike>

  * MAKE HIM GET A HUMAN JOB!!!

***

The plan was put in action with an ambush Sunday morning. As Gabriel walked downstairs, clad in the angel-print pyjamas (they were surprisingly comfortable), Aziraphale figuratively pounced.

“Working for an immortal isn’t exactly the Human Experience, is it? As such, we’ve decided you ought to get a job among real humans. By the way, you’re being let go effective immediately from your position at A.Z. Fell & Co Books. Good morning.”

***

“It’s not that difficult,” Crowley seethed. “You just have to type in the employment history we made up for your identity. What’s taking so long?”

Gabriel, to his credit, was almost done hunt-and-pecking out his name in a document on Aziraphale’s antique PC. “It was a lot simpler when humans were just banging rocks together, you know! But no, suddenly there’s all these buttons and lights and—”

The computer made a sad trombone noise.

“I may have just deleted everything.”

“Forget it,” Crowley said, pushing Gabriel out of the way. “It’ll be much faster if I just do it.”

***

A few weeks (and a few dozen applications) later, not one of them had given even the courtesy of a call-back. This was, perhaps, due to the fact that all the applications had been done by handing in Gabriel’s resume at front desks, when literally nobody was hiring that way anymore, a fact that none of the three beings knew.

Restlessness grew before Aziraphale and Crowley came to a decision: the next application _would_ succeed.

***

_A few days later..._

Gabriel received a call on his phone. He answered it in a similar way to how he’d been told to answer the shop phone, but obviously without the ‘A.Z. Fell’s Rare and Antiquarian Books’ part, or the ‘sorry, we’re closed’ part. That is, he answered: “Hello?”

“Is this Gabriel Smith?”

“…Yes.”

“Jim from Sainsburys HR Department speaking. I believe you turned in your CV yesterday to our Mayfair franchise, hoping for a management position, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Crowley and Aziraphale entered the room. “Is that the job?” Crowley asked; this was met by a nod. “Put it on speaker, then,” Crowley said. “It’s the button with the— the cone thing, with the curved lines—”

Gabriel located and pressed the button.

“—one of the assistant managers at that franchise just gave her two-week notice. Won the lottery,” Jim from Sainsburys HR Department explained. [3] “Normally we only hire through the website, but I gave you a chance, and your credentials seem perfect for the position— heck, maybe even a little overqualified. How’s tomorrow for an interv—”

Aziraphale made a panicked hand motion, akin to an orchestra conductor signaling an abrupt stop to the music.

“—actually, never mind all that. You’re hired, Gabriel! You start Monday!”

***

_One week later..._

zoomers of the mayfair branch (8 people)

******x.its.mandy.b.x:** HELLO SO

**x.its.mandy.b.x: **i have a theory

**jam.ie.cl.ark:** go on??

**x.its.mandy.b.x:** the new assistant manager gabriel is an alien

**x.its.mandy.b.x:** THINK ABOUT IT

**kay.leeee.05:** Lol classic Amanda “I want to believe” Bakshi 

**x.its.mandy.b.x:** ok first of all i dont have that shirt anymore because your brother stole it from me

**kay.leeee.05:** Correction: he stole it from *me*

**x.its.mandy.b.x:** after u stole it from me 

**x.its.mandy.b.x:** besides do you have a better theory

**kay.leeee.05: **...Not really

**x.its.mandy.b.x:** well, allow me to present my arguments

**_the_big_red_dog: **[Image: the Pepe Silvia meme]

**x.its.mandy.b.x:** kayleigh control ur brother

**kay.leeee.05:** No promises ❤️

**x.its.mandy.b.x:** OK SO. first off, he doesn’t know what half the stuff in the shop is. especially food

**jam.ie.cl.ark:** what are you talking about, “decadent sustenance section” is a perfectly normal way to describe the sweets aisle

**x.its.mandy.b.x:** second off, wednesday i heard him talking on his flip phone (side note: flip phone???????????????? in the year of our lord 2k23??????????????) saying something abt “the humans” which is a v strange thing to say if you are yourself a human

**kay.leeee.05: **Are you sure that’s what he said? Like iirc the store was pretty noisy at the time

**x.its.mandy.b.x:** I KNOW WHAT I HEARD

**kay.leeee.05:** Also the question remains of why would an alien get a job at this random sainsburys 

**x.its.mandy.b.x:** i mean fair that’s the main flaw in my theory

**_the_big_red_dog:** calm down mulder and scully

**sumi.hassan4:** ??? Cliff that reference is older than any of us???

**jam.ie.cl.ark:** i propose a counter-theory

**jam.ie.cl.ark:** international fugitive

**x.its.mandy.b.x:** don’t those have to be smart tho

**_the_big_red_dog:** not necessarily. the really smart ones would just never get caught

**sumi.hassan4:** the question is, what crime

**_the_big_red_dog: **i mean i can definitely imagine gabriel having killed a man idk about you 

**liv_clairee_:** some kind of fraud probably. like given how easily he charms karens out of complaints it would be on brand for him to charm ppl out of money

**_the_big_red_dog:** he has a fake sounding name also

**kay.leeee.05: **???

**_the_big_red_dog:** “smith”

**kay.leeee.05: **I mean the reason Smith gets used as a fake name

**kay.leeee.05: **Is that a lot of people have it as their real name

**_chr.is.g_:** it’s also possible he’s just, like, a regular dude whos weird

**x.its.mandy.b.x:** wheres the fun in that

***FOOTNOTES***

1With their former-angel tenant absent— he was out with the shopping list, and probably wouldn’t be back for hours.[return to text]

2Aziraphale had seen Crowley playing a game in The Sims series once, in much the same manner as it was played by many humans.[return to text]

3Aziraphale and Crowley shared a knowing smile.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: _Gabriel Has a Holiday!_

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are great; comments are greater; subscriptions show you care! Fan feedback sustains me, so PLEASE don't be shy to give it. Until next time!


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